Body Language

My therapist said that my heart

needs to talk to my brain more.

They need to be in agreement,

on the same page. But my heart

doesn’t speak whatever language it is

my brain does. My heart speaks in

clicks and thuds. It’s always moving,

call it body language in it’s truest form.

I teach my brain this language.

It becomes fluent, studying every textbook,

it’s grammar is perfect, it’s accent is a bit off,

but thats okay. I sit the two down together.

The brain speaks first, like it always does.

It says something about equal and opposite reaction,

we must wait to react, until we can find out

what an appropriate action will be.

My heart just nods. Brain continues,

“What do you think?”

My heart just nods. Brain says,

“Do you understand the accent?”

My heart just nods but it can not form

an articulate sentence in its own language.

It is not educated on equal and opposite reactions.

It is a Mexican farmer coming to the U.S.

You blame his lack of english skills

on where he was raised, but he still

can’t hold a complicated conversation

that won’t complicate his need to articulate

his own tongue so he just nods away all his problems.

My brain is teaching my heart its own language.

My brain is destroying body language.

Destruction in its truest form.

The Host

I would love to say I need you,

that I would be incomplete without you,

that you are the part that makes me whole.

But I was whole before you.

I was not a malnourished child,

that weaned off starvation when you came.

I was more like a complete dinner,

laid out for guests to devour and you

were the first to accept the invitation.

I hope you enjoyed the feast.

Theres no doubt you did. You devoured it.

When you had your share,

you left, full, and happy.

And I am left. Parts of me chewed,

other parts thrown into the trash.

I am left like scraps on a plate,

washed away as if they were never there.

The plates are clean again.

I’ll go set another table for one.

Let’s see if the next person,

has the decency to help me clean up.

Half-Light

Between sunrise and sunset,

I don’t know what draws me closer.

The thought that now will eventually be

then or that my then, can never be now

again. You see, I’ve made too many mistakes

to let one slip again, so I’d like to turn back the clock.

I want to take a jar and fill it with my mistakes,

like fireflies, trapped for their own good. But now,

its too late for these lightning bugs. But even caged bug refuse to be

anything less than shining and bright. They were once closer,

to God and good, and forgiveness, closer than I was. So now,

I let these fireflies go, I can’t keep them here.

If I did, they would die an unholy death, haunting me.

So I’ll release them, in the time where they can clearly be seen:

a time between sunset and sunrise.

Cheering Up The Class (Prose Poem)

She looked upset, and he hated that. So he put one hand on each side of her abdomen and forced his hands to convulse. As soon as he fingers convulsed, so did her body, in a seizure of screams. It sounds like she would start the word “Help” and never finish it, over and over again. “He- He- He-”. She screamed so much. Everybody around her smiled and screamed along. She had the prettiest scream of them all.

Storm Waters

When rain waters come

And the rushing flood

Encapsulates your home,

Do not bottle storm waters.

Refrain from capturing the storm.

Do not try to tame thunder in headphones.

Do not try to hold lightning in lightbulbs.

And do not bottle storm waters.

If the water reaches your breasts,

Do not let it push against your heart.

Do not take these waves into your lungs.

That’s just bottling storm waters.

And you, my friend, are no bottle.

You are no recyclable.

You will not float away with the flood.

You will not bottle storm waters!